


i've seen your frown and it's like looking down the barrel of a gun

by emilybrontay



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Cake, F/M, Underage Drinking, it's cosette's birthday, its implied sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-19 06:48:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3600294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emilybrontay/pseuds/emilybrontay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"A small smile crept over his face, and she nudged his knee with her own. The pizza box fell to the ground, but neither of them bothered to retrieve it. Another silence fell between them, a comfortable one that reminded her of summer evenings when the tarmac was sticky and the alcohol cold."</p>
            </blockquote>





	i've seen your frown and it's like looking down the barrel of a gun

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this what feels like a thousand years ago for st enjonine's day on tumblr. the title comes from arctic monkeys' mardy bum!!

The flashing disco lights and classic rock bass lines started getting to her at about half eleven, so she extracted herself from the crowd watching Marius throw his guts up in the cupboard under the stairs, and snuck out into the Fauchelevents back garden, where she sat on the picnic bench that the boys had stolen from the Red Lion the year before (Cosette claimed that Valjean had bought her lie that they’d won it at the funfair, but somehow Eponine had doubts) and lit a cigarette. It wasn’t that she hated parties, or that she wasn’t having a good time, because she always had a good time at Cosette’s. It was just that she’d had enough of vomit and drinking games and half remembered snogs to last her a lifetime, and if it wasn’t too much to ask, she’d like to sit this one out. Cosette wouldn’t mind, anyway – as long as she was holding her hand at the end of the night, when Marius brought out the cake, and they all sang _Happy Birthday_ badly and off key. It was one of the many reasons she loved being Cosette’s best friend; she gave Eponine all the space she needed to be messy and harsh and alone. And at the end of the day, not even the daughter of the wolf could resist Cosette’s warmth.

She exhaled slowly, watching the smoke shine in the moonlight. The night was cool, but she didn’t particularly care. She didn’t care about much, really. There was a crunching noise from behind her, and she spun around, faster than a lightning bolt ( _with all the skill and speed of someone who had been pickpocketing since they were seven_ ) to see Enjolras stood there, pizza box in one hand and bottle of cider in the other.

She stared at him for a second ( _well, it was more of a glare, really_ ) before shuffling to the other end of the bench, giving him space to sit. He paused, not entirely sure of her intentions, and it was only when she patted the empty space beside her that he sat, pizza box on knees. She helped herself to a slice.

“You looked sad,” he said finally, voice low and quiet. She snorted, and stubbed her cigarette out on the grass.

“You been watching me, pretty boy?” she snapped. He shook his head, and picked at a slice of pizza.

“Don’t flatter yourself – Cosette sent me.”

“I see…”

“She’s upset that you’re not participating in the karaoke.”

“Nah, she’s not,” Eponine reached over to take his bottle, but his grip was firm. “Oh, _c’mon_ , pretty boy, let me have a sip.”

“You have a cold,” he replied steadily, and she laughed.

“I do not!”

“I don’t like sharing drinks, all right?”

She snorted again, and nibbled at the pizza. It was still warm, which she was thankful for ( _despite years of Cosette’s insistence, Eponine was disgusted by cold pizza_ ).

“Germaphobe,” she said, and he shifted uncomfortably.

“I am not!”

Eponine did not reply. Instead, she continued to eat, and to listen to the dull thud of the party.

“Are you still seeing Montparnasse?” Enjolras asked her quietly. She shrugged.

“What’s it to you?”

“He’s bad news…”

“Well,” she turned to face him, and in that second his beauty ( _because he was, he was beautiful, all curly hair and sharp cheekbones_ ) made her breath hitch in her throat, “There’s not a lot of good news round here, is there?”

He said nothing in return, and she thought inexplicably of Marius, his warm smile and shiny hair. Perhaps there was some good news ( _but Marius was Cosette’s, always had been, always will, and it was just like her to want what she could never have_ ).

“We’re good news,” her companion said softly, “Us. The Amis.”

She scoffed. “I still can’t believe you gave your stupid boyband a name.”

“We’re not a boyband! We’re-” he protested, but she was smiling. It was so rare to see Eponine smile that it stopped him from finishing his sentence.

“You’re a boyband, pretty boy,” she told him, “stop fighting it and start writing pop songs.”

They sat in silence for a while, occasionally taking bites from the pizza, Enjolras sipping his cider, deep in thought.

“Cosette’s not really upset, is she?” Eponine asked quietly, fumbling in her pocket for a cigarette. He shook his head.

“She could never be upset with you.”

Eponine thought again of Marius, and her cheeks burned. _Is this how she repaid Cosette’s unwavering and constant love and affection? By developing a ridiculous crush on the boy she loved more than anything else in the world?_ You are the devil, Thenardier, she told herself, and you do not deserve these friends.

“She loves you,” he continued, and she became more and more thankful that it was night, and he could not see how red her cheeks had become, “We all – I mean, _they_ , they all love you.”

She ran a hand through her hair and inhaled deeply through her nose. Collecting herself, she turned to him.

“And what about you, pretty boy?” she teased, “Do you love me?”

He glanced down at his lap, at the empty box that balanced on his knees. His silence made her heart ache, for reasons she couldn’t quite understand.

“I am…I mean, you’re irritating as hell, and stubborn, and you get us into so much trouble, and you’re a terrible drunk, and you don’t believe in the revolution or anything like that and I – and I’m sort of fond of you.”

“I didn’t ask about _fond_ , pretty boy,” she giggled, edging closer to him, “I asked if you love me.”

“Don’t push it Thenardier,” he mumbled, and she laughed loudly. He thought it made the stars shine. She bumped her shoulder against his, and he laughed under his breath.

“Thanks,” she said quietly.

“For what?”

“The pizza.”

“Like I said – Cosette said you looked sad.”

“I’m not sad,” she told him, “I just…needed a bit, y’know?”

He nodded, and his glance fell on her bony, fishnet clad knees.

“Planning on going back in at any point?” he asked, looking upwards, towards her eyes ( _so brown they were almost black_ ) and her mass of dark hair.

Eponine shrugged. “For the cake. I’ll go in for the cake.”

“’ferre’s mum made it,” he told her, “Red velvet. Cream cheese icing. Cosette’ll go weak at the knees.”

“Well aren’t you just a regular cake expert?”

“If the lawyer thing doesn’t work out I can always become a chef,” he said, straight faced. It took her a moment, a few seconds of staring into his bright blue eyes to work out that he was joking.

“Did you just – did you just crack a joke, Enjolras?”

A small smile crept over his face, and she nudged his knee with her own. The pizza box fell to the ground, but neither of them bothered to retrieve it. Another silence fell between them, a comfortable one that reminded her of summer evenings when the tarmac was sticky and the alcohol cold.

“Have they done _Dancing Queen_ yet?” she asked. He shrugged.

“Probably not – it’s your territory, isn’t it? ABBA?”

She smiled a funny sort of half smile that he felt in his bones. “Indeed,” she replied, “but if you tell Montparnasse that I’ll have to kill you. I’ve a reputation as a stone cold punk to keep up, you know.”

Enjolras nodded. He glanced down at his bottle – he had a quarter of it left, and for some reason he didn’t quite fancy it. Not looking at her, he shoved it in Eponine’s direction.

“D’you want it?”

“Pretty boy!” she exclaimed, “I thought you didn’t share drinks!”

“I don’t want it back,” he said hurriedly, “you can finish it.”

“Cheers,” she said solemnly, and downed the drink in one.

“D’you wanna go back in?” he asked. She cocked her head to one side, taking in his graceful features and pizza stained hands.

“Yeah, all right.”

She got to her feet, and offered him her arm. Tentatively, he took it.

“I’m not, by the way.”

“Not what?”

“Still seeing Montparnasse. Not that it’s any of your business, of course.”

He nodded. “Right. Yeah. None of my business.”

As they walked into the house, you could not tell where one started and the other began.


End file.
